


Jet Lag Blues

by donniestan



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 20:13:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13325646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donniestan/pseuds/donniestan
Summary: 1. Yes I know this isn't my best.2. I don't know why I'm writing an AB/AP fic when mania comes out in 10 days- but I had to finish it, because no doubt I will be writing more mania centric fic with all the new content.





	Jet Lag Blues

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Yes I know this isn't my best.  
> 2\. I don't know why I'm writing an AB/AP fic when mania comes out in 10 days- but I had to finish it, because no doubt I will be writing more mania centric fic with all the new content.

At this time of night, although the cars and the distant sound of conversation and confrontation hangs heavy in the air, as it usually does in Chicago, it is mostly quiet in the large airport that brings both tourists and natives in and out of the city.

Patrick Stump, although famous (even though he is still unable to believe it sometimes) has not been recognised yet by the airport’s jet-lagged clientele. He is waiting for one certain Joe Trohman, who is due to be coming through those doors any- he checks his phone- any moment now.

The last time he saw Joe, it was through a little phone screen and he couldn’t even hear his voice properly. Patrick is nervous and excited all at once. He’s nervous because the last time he and Joe were together, they argued quite a bit. And yet he’s flushed and excited and feeling glad, as it's his Joe.

Checking his phone for the time, Patrick looks up to see a few people come out of the doors, but no one he recognises. Half past two in the morning, and only a few airport shops are left open, their harsh white light spilling out like reverse shadows onto the dirty floor. No Joe yet. 

A few minutes pass. Patrick starts tapping his foot, and then hears footsteps. Looks up. And-

Joe looks tired, eyes hidden behind black sunglasses that Patrick hasn't seen before. Patrick runs a little to hug him, and he is solid and warm and smells like fruit- a sharp new fragrance he can't quite identify. It's intoxicating. He pushes his face forcefully into the hollow in Joe's shoulder, hands moving up and down his back constantly like it's a map. Tears grow like seeds in his eyes, blossoming wet and hot down his face. 

" Hey." Patrick rescues up to push a stray strand of hair behind Joe's ear. Need for sleep is pulsing off him like waves. Some shop is playing far too lively pop music, and it feels blood orange and dusty pink to Patrick's senses. 

_____________________________________________________________________________

He parked somewhere he would remember: Block E, lane five. It's bitter and stinging outside, cold seeping right through his clothes.

" I missed you." Patrick tells him when they're in the car.   
" Me too, honey." Joe's taken off his sunglasses and the shadows under his eyes are so prominent it's almost concerning. 

" But it gotta tell you something," Patrick continues. " While we wait for the car to warm up." The windows are frozen over, ice coating the car.   
" Mhm." Joe has Patrick's right hand in his, holding it, pressing it to his mouth. Patrick feels guilt bubble up inside of him. He thinks about shouting those terrible words, : " Why the hell are you going away when we have an album to finish?!" 

" I'm sorry. I mean. We kinda argued a lot before you went and I know- I know we cleared it up but I feel bad about it and the label are pushing and-"   
" Shh. I'm tired, you're tired. It's okay. I forgive you. Patrick- we were both stressed out. It's okay." Joe fastens his seatbelt. " I love you." 

The radio brings nothing when it is turned on, just bland music that is ending already. Their car speeds along the road, Patrick anxious to get home. He almost misses it when it starts, the noisy car disguising the telltale beginning of the song. A song he has worked on, listened to, argued over-

" Hey, is that-" Joe turns up the radio.

" some legends are told....  
some turn to dust or to gold...  
but you will remember me... "

Patrick huffs out a laugh. " Huh." It's almost ironic. His very own voice keeps singing the words of the hit, and the guitars kick in.  
" Famous, huh." Joe murmurs. His head is laid back against the car seat, his eyes barely open. 

Over the rest of the thankfully short journey, Patrick has time to reflect of the past year. 

What a year for them. 

At the start, there were videos and tours and the hugeness of their shows with Paramore in the summer and then... Pete has suggested writing some songs. Centuries comes out. The movie. The big movie. Label wants another album. It's barely been a year since the last one. Label are pushing, because they're a Grammy nominated rock-pop band that needs to stay on top of things. Checking lyrics. Joe dragging him away from the studio. Arguing. Joe leaving...

This year hasn't felt real. 

Patrick sighs with relief when he pulls into the driveway. The freezing air soaks into his skin when they get out of the car and it's so good to be able to haul himself into his comfy bed while Joe's in the bathroom. 

_________________________________________________________________________________

 

Joe's skin is warm and flushed from their proximity, his hair dark and soft under Patrick's hands. He feels all doubts brushed away, the only thing left being the darkness and Joe's smell and even, slow breathing. Before he falls asleep Patrick wonders how he could have wanted anything more than this. Joe is all he needs.


End file.
